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I appeared to be sobbing like a Jessie over Thatcher

Dear Holly,

Yesterday I attended the funeral of possibly one of the greatest female prime ministers the UK has ever had, and had a mostly fabulous time, but as I took my seat for the service I accidentally caught one of my onions in between two chairs and subsequently spent much of the service trying to hide the excruciating pain. Unfortunately the eyes of the world were on me, and I appear to be sobbing like a Jessie over a woman I only met once. I just wanted to set the record straight.

George Osbourne 

London

Dear George,

Don’t worry, I’m sure most people assumed you were crying because you were so embarrassed to take part in the most tedious television programme ever to be broadcast. That’s what I assumed, anyway. At my school we all got told we were getting a special TV treat and immediately assumed we’d get to watch High School Musical 3 or something, but it soon transpired that was not the case, and instead of mooning over Zac Efron we were going to be watching some sort of rubbish reality show called Funeral Live. The only good bit was when they were going up the steps with the coffin and there was a slight chance of them dropping it, You’ve Been Framed style, but after that it all went downhill. I haven’t got a clue why Jeremy Clarkson agreed to be in it either – he was on foot for some strange reason. I’ve written to the BBC suggesting that the next episode should involve Mr Tumble or Floella Benjamin to lighten the format up a little – that guy Jeffrey Archer was definitely a bad casting choice.

Hope that helps,

Holly

Boss acting like you're Oliver Twist

ANY requests for a pay rise this year will be met with a stern look and possibly being hit with a ladle.

As it emerged that salary increases are now somewhere between 1% and sweet fuck all, employees reported getting tongue-lashings for their disgraceful ingratitude.

Sales administrator Tom Booker said: “My boss is a big red-faced man with a booming voice and a greasy leather apron, or at least that’s how he looks to me.

“I was going to tell him how I’d consistently exceeded targets but my voice went all small and all I could manage was, ‘…please sir?’

“He bent double so that his face – which seemed to be the size of a moon – was level with mine and said, ‘HOW…DARE…YOU?’

“I felt the warmth of my bladder emptying itself down my leg and everyone in the office simultaneously burst out laughing. Someone threw a stapler that hit me on the ear.”

But Julian Cook, who lost his job last year and now steals loaves, said Booker should think himself lucky.

“I watched it all with my soot-smeared nose pressed up against the office window, and he doesn’t know he’s born.

“He’s browsing the internet now and eating a packet of Wotsits like it’s no big deal. To me those Wotsits would be manna from Heaven.”

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